For Manang, our favorite family member

Is family defined solely as shared DNA, or does it also encompass the people who have watched you become the person you are today?

When Antiqueño Deevilyn Mendoza’s mother passed away from cancer, she needed a way to support her grief-stricken younger siblings and alcoholic father. Deep in medical and interment debt, she sought employment at the cusp of 18 years old. “I [didn’t] know a lot of things. I didn’t even speak Tagalog. My friend just said, ‘Let’s go to Manila. Maybe we can find work.’” Through her aunt’s referral, Mendoza worked as a yaya for a five-person household in Parañaque.

This is a starting point for many who turn to kasambahay work. Pakikisama, an institutional pillar of Filipino culture, makes us predisposed to emanate kindness wherever we go. If nothing else, it is inherent to care for others; so much so that it becomes an employable trait. By providing for their own family members, yayas often gain new ones from the people they watch over.

Finding the good bones

It is one thing to live far from home for work, but integrating yourself into an entirely different household is another challenge altogether. 

Similar to Mendoza, single mother Lisel Abasolo entered her cousin’s home in Antipolo to fund her young daughter’s schooling. Despite being employed by extended family, the distance from her own child remained painful for the Bacolod native. “Namimiss mo yung anak mo kasi nga malayo. Kaya lang, iniisip mo [rin] na para magkaroon ka ng pinansyal [na kayahan], magtitiis ka,” Abasolo adds.

(Of course, you’ll miss your child because you’re far away. That said, when you think about being financially independent, you’ll persevere.)

Tending to people can be difficult and tiring, much less adjusting to everyone’s lifestyles on top of household chores. Mendoza sees a silver lining in caring for young children when she was still a child herself. She recalls in Filipino, “I was only 17. So, my main task every day would be just to play with them.” With time, those idiosyncrasies become part of a yaya’s daily life, as Abasolo fondly differentiates the children she has watched over for 20 years. “Whatever tasks you have to do become routine…It’s not difficult when you’re doing it every day. I am used to it,” she reflects.

It takes a village

Woven through years of warm camaraderie, yayas become integral to their serviced family, with each alaga—the children under their care—displaying their unique ways of showing their affection. Members of the hosting home become instrumental in celebrating important moments, making the bond even more profound. Mendoza recalls her 18th birthday with fondness. “I don’t have family here in Manila, so they were the ones to buy me balloons and cake,” she beams. “It was the first time I had a cake because in my province, we don’t have bakeries.” 

The love of a yaya is best exemplified in the mundane moments—the smell of fresh laundry, the sight of a restocked cupboard, and the taste of unbeatable home-cooked meals. Here, it is in moments of reciprocated concern that yayas feel most seen. “Sometimes I [get] so tired. I can really feel that [they worry] when they ask me, ‘Tita, are you okay?’” Abasolo shares in Filipino. Between manangs, the older and more seasoned yayas, and their second children, their affinity shines through even in moments of discipline. This reflects the deep respect families have for their second parents. “Just give it a moment, and he’ll be affectionate with me again right away,” Abasol reminisces with a smile.

For Alyanah Miranda (IV, AB-OSDM), who has grown close to her yaya, Ate Lyn, over the past six years, the bond of care and understanding goes both ways. When words fail, she uses food to express her gratitude to her yaya. She quips lightly, “I know my cooking is not the best, but…I think that’s how I [best] show gratitude.” 

It is in these gentlenesses that cherished memories create a connection indissoluble, even by distance. Mendoza echoes this sentiment. When she went home to Antique for a year, she found herself longing for the family she left behind. “I really missed her. I would always cry,” Mendoza recalls while stifling a laugh, sharing that her youngest alaga was only two years old at the time they met.

Home is where the heart is

Even when homesickness hits, some yayas stay because they found a second home with their employers. Testament to this is the Miranda household, who have opted for a stay-out yaya but still welcome Ate Lyn’s three children into their abode as if they were part of the nuclear family: “We have such a good bond that she also entrusts her family with us.” Workdays are lighter on the mind for Ate Lyn, who does not have to worry about the security of her tweens who are under the same roof, safely playing with Miranda’s younger siblings. 

In turn, yayas treat their cared-for families as if they were also their own. Abasolo confesses that in her 20 years of service, she hesitates to part with her employers. Despite her breadwinning daughter’s yearning for her to come home for good, her heart argues wrong timing, “Parang ‘di ko [pa] silang kayang iwan.” 

(I can’t seem to leave them yet.)

The kindness and generosity shown by employers themselves become templates for the kind of love yayas want to bring into their own homes. Although a decade has passed since Mendoza left her only housekeeping job, she still credits her employers for shaping how she expresses love to her own son and husband. “I learned that when I have a family in the future, I want to be like that also,” she chimes with a smile. The now mother of one is still in contact with the light of the family, who is the first person she runs to for advice.

Ironed out lessons

Discourse on the gripes and celebrations of being a yaya rarely make the headlines. However, that is not to say that their sacrifices are taken for granted. Miranda may not see her yaya every day, but she firmly believes that part of Ate Lyn’s legacy is teaching her “how to make [their] house into a home,” a mentality that has been expressed in regular decluttering and knowing how to be independent.

It takes great sacrifice to enter kasambahay work. It’s not an industry fueled by a desire to be the best at something, but it is an earnest career that is marked by impassioned individuals who work tooth and nail for sustenance and even survival. Mendoza reminds herself to “be resilient [and] flexible” on difficult days, knowing that her siblings at home wait patiently for her next remittance to purchase rice.

Gratitude is a two-way street for yayas and the families they work for. Those who have lived with one know better than anyone else that their comforts have been made possible with the extra hands keeping their home afloat. It is through shared meals and gentle thank-yous that the ice is broken, a house is filled with warm hospitality, and soon enough, the four walls become a home for and because of our ates and manangs. As Abasolo puts it, “Pinakitaan mo sila nang maganda[ng trabaho], maganda [rin] yung pinakita sayo, diba?”

(You do your work well, and they treat you well too.)

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This article was published in The LaSallian‘s Menagerie Special 2025. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSMenagerieSpecial2025.